Better and Better
by Reaper Of The Dead
Summary: A collection of shorter oneshots that I didn't feel were long enough to be posted as individual stories. Enjoy!
1. Better and Better

Happy New Year! Enjoy the stupidity. - Reaper

**Disclaimer****: **Okay, let me make it clear. I do NOT own inFAMOUS. If I did, there would be more explosions and Mad Bombers; and I mean _hordes _of Mad Bombers.

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_'This day just keeps getting better and better. First I had to get the trains moving, rescue hostages, and get chased through the city by psychotic mad bombers. But that just wasn't_ _enough for these people! Now I have to escort _this_ useless sack of flesh!_' Cole ranted angrily in his head, shooting a glare at the paranoid engineer walking behind him who jumped at every little noise. '_At least the bridge is only a little farther.'_

Five more minutes of walking and the bridge was in sight. "We're here!" The engineer ran ahead of Cole to the bridge's control panel. He turned to Cole with a panicked look and whispered, "Keep an eye out. Lots of Reapers roaming around."

Cole rolled his eyes, '_No shit. Like I need a warning._' He crossed his arms and leaned against the control panel. He sighed out of boredom and let his fingers spark, looking at the blue lightning dancing across his fingertips to pass the time. He was creating a tiny dog-shaped lightning bolt when the engineer decided it was a good idea to scare him shitless by death-gripping his shoulders, shaking him like a crazy man, and screaming in his face, "Here they come!"

Cole grumbled and wiped the spit off his face, shaking his head to regain his senses. "Are you insane?" he growled at the man, fixing him with one of his infamous death glares. Suddenly a shot came from the left, drawing a low groan from Cole. As he turned around, the three Reapers fired again, missed (of course : D), spewed their black vomit at him in anger, and ducked back behind a car. Cole snarled and blew said car to smithereens, knocking the three red-hooded gangsters unconscious.

The human light-socket started to turn back to the control panel when another shot was fired, this time from above. It hit the concrete next to his foot and ricocheted off to barely graze the crazed engineer's shoulder. The engineer screamed in absolute agony and crumpled to the ground, clutching his shoulder and sobbing like the drama queen he was. Cole gave the man a blank stare before turning his gaze on the two Reapers on the train tracks above the road.

They swung their guns around and fired repeatedly to intimidate him, while he simply raised an eyebrow as the bullets hit everything within a ten-foot radius of him—except him. Intimidation attempt: failed. While they kept up their mad dancing, Cole's ears picked up the faint yet distinctive sound of metal screeching along the tracks. "Hey, you idiots might wanna get off the tracks."

The Reapers paused, their tiny, mutated brains confused by the words. With the sound growing closer, he sighed and tried another approach. "You," he pointed at the brainless duo. "Get. Off. The. Tracks," he said slowly, walking the fingers of his left hand across the palm of his right, and then making the fingers jump off the hand.

One growled quizzically and the other tilted its head to the side. Cole shook his head in defeat, "Forget it. It's useless." He looked to the right, and watched the train as it hit the duo and sent them flying through the air. He laughed evilly as they bounced along the concrete, leaving little shreds of their hoodies and pants behind.

The electric hero walked over and looked down at the two dimwits who now resembled bear attack victims, then at the three still out cold in the street. "Heh heh. You guys really are stupid, aren't you?" One of the morons at his feet growled and vomited its black tar all over Cole's shoes. '_Yep. This day just keeps getting better._'


	2. A Hot Day

Another random ficlet I wrote to help fight a small case of Writers Block. Came up with the idea while cutting the grass... in the middle of the day... in 90+ degree weather. Not fun. - Reaper

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Cole wheezed, trying to gain his breath back in the stifling heat. He glared at the sky, silently cursing the sun that made Empire City feel more like Hell… or rather what Hell would feel like if he didn't have a vacation home there, complete with a pool and tiki hut.

A passerby dressed in shorts and a tee kindly (see: sarcastically) suggested that the human battery change into more temperature appropriate clothing. Cole politely told him to fuck off – and electrified the water in the poor citizen's hand as he continued on his merry little way.

He fumed at the thought of the man's words as he climbed the side of a building, his gloves melting on the pipe. How dare he tell Cole to change wardrobe! His image of badassedness would be ruined! And what about his enemies? They had learned to cringe in fear at the sight of the black and yellow blur leaping across the buildings!

Down below, a group of Reapers wearing swim trunks and ski masks sat comfortably in front of a fan laughing their mutated asses off at the idiot roasting on the rooftops. They then decided, being the oh-so-caring beings that they are, to help their sparky friend cool down.

-_-_-_-_-(What's up? Yeah. I'm a line. I talk. And stuff.)-_-_-_-_-

The sun had just set, and yet life decided not to turn down the heat. And Mr. McGrath was still wearing the Ski Suit of Badass while running around the city looking for a fight to take his currently boiling mind off the temperature. Cole paused in the middle of the wire he was running across, glancing down at the street below him. He wondered what the strange cannon-looking contraption aimed at him was for all of two seconds before a giggling Reaper twisted a knob. And the floodgates opened.

The Reapers sat in awe of the beautiful show of fireworks that night. They still tell of it to this day. Though being passed by word of mouth from genetically-altered crack babies that can't even speak (or, apparently, even _comprehend_) human speech is impossible, the little dances and puppet shows make it seem quite the spectacle…

…Even if Cole snaps his disagreement from under his full-body bandages.


	3. If Only, If Only

Another ficlet. Short and not so sweet. It helped referee the match in which I kicked the absolute shit out of Writer's Block. Feedback is always welcome. Enjoy. - **Reaper**

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**I**t was a sunny day in Empire City as a beautiful (busty) news reporter stood in front of the camera to deliver the day's headlines (and the daily dose of partial nudity). She was in the middle of explaining the newest increase in drive-by shootings (and shockings) when she was suddenly pushed over and crushed under the feet of a rabid, screaming mob.

Another normal day in the fucked up city.

But, for one individual, the day was about as sunny as Satan's ass crack. Walking along behind the fleeing maniacs was a familiar fuzz-head dressed in yellow and black. Yes, as usual the masses fled for their lives from the city's infamous badass, Cole McGrath. But what made today different was the fact that they were not running in fear of his hot temper or his electrical grenades and shockwaves, or even his godlike ability to summon crackling death from the skies. No, today they were on the run from Cole himself.

Or, to be precise, his stench.

That's right; the feared lightening man had come down with a serious case of Reeks-O'-Death. And there was no cure. Weeks of blood, garbage, Reaper vomit, roasted flesh, and various other elements had accumulated into a reeking mess on his body. And he had no way to get it off. He might have stood a chance against the disease of funkyness…

…if only he could bathe without frying himself.


End file.
